


Fraught

by deathwailart



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flashbangs and hits from Cerberus batons aren't the only triggers that cause biotics to hide under the blankets from migraines.</p>
<p>Written for the 30 day drabble challenge: fraught</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fraught

He hovers in the elevator outside her door because he's worried, she's not sleeping well beside him now, jerking awake at weird hours or with a furrow between her brow, tossing and turning but she never wants to talk about it, just shaking her head and letting him hold her and stroke her hair. Amalia's just been off dealing with some Cerberus base, EDI and Javik with her and when she hadn't come to do her usual round of the Normandy he'd been concerned, concerned enough to send up a quick message because sometimes you wanted space at a time like this, when she'd check in down in the armoury and he'd tell her 'maybe later' or 'not right now', keeping busy just so he didn't have to think. At the lack of response, remembering just how badly she's sleeping, he'd decided to go check in personally and that's how he's ended up here.  
  
He taps on the door. Waits. Taps again.  
  
Another couple of minutes of shifting from foot to foot and he heads in, trying to tell himself to stop being so paranoid when maybe she's just tired enough to sleep instead of checking in before she does work until something else calls her away.  
  
"Amalia?" The cabin is dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of the impressive fish tank, dark enough that Garrus almost trips over his feet. "Am-" A groan comes from the direction of the bed. Or rather the lump in the bed that, when he squints, looks like Amalia buried under a pile of blankets, her armour and weapons tossed on the floor and he almost trips on them before he gathers everything up to set it on the couch for a lack of anywhere better to put it for now, not when she makes another pained noise that sounds like a bitten-off cry.  
  
"Garrus?" She asks, sounding very much like she's talking through clenched teeth.  
  
"Amalia, are you alright? Do you need-"  
  
"Migraine," she whispers, interrupting his questioning. "Don't get them much aft-- but- oh _fuck_. On the—" She waves a hand as Garrus takes a seat on the bed and dares to push the blankets down just enough to get a look, managing to just about make out her flushed cheeks before she closes her eyes and kicks the blankets down. "Pen, blue case-"  
  
"I'm on it."  
  
In the dark it's a little harder to make things out in the mess of a bedside cabinet Amalia keeps but he grabs the case, opens it up and well, he's had to do enough in the field and he still remembers his army training for emergency situations when he was young. It's easy enough to press the pen against her thigh when she points, setting it back in the case as he rubs at the injection site, waiting for the medicine to kick in as he pulls the blankets up and carefully rubs the back of her neck, tentatively feeling for any injuries. He knows that flashbangs give her migraines but no one really uses those these days but the batons Cerberus are using, if hit right, probably aren't good for a biotic. But there's no point in trying to ask her anything until she lets out a little gasp and starts to go limp.  
  
"Were you hurt?" He asks finally although he's not entirely sure she's actually awake. EDI or Javik would have said something but still, it's Amalia, she's got a bad habit of shrugging a lot of things off, especially these days.  
  
"No," she replies, blinking at him before apparently deciding keeping her eyes open is too difficult. "Just...one of those things. Stay?"  
  
"Of course," he says because he's not going to leave her alone like this and they rearrange positions carefully so he's sitting up, Amalia curled against his lap in her blankets with one of his hands carefully massaging her head as she drifts off.  
  
It's only once she's asleep that he remembers – because he doesn't like thinking back as much right now, there's too much to focus on and it hurts, remembering when they thought they'd have more of a chance – that she was like this as they got closer to the suicide mission. When she was full of nervous energy and if her stress levels were bad then...well he doesn't want to think about how bad she must be now.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just really indulgent fic because I've been having a lot of lying in bed, covers over my head to block out the light headaches and migraines recently and I've also gone through a gross period of almost daily stress induced killer headaches.


End file.
